


Now Smile!

by breakuplovelikelegos



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, smut in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:12:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakuplovelikelegos/pseuds/breakuplovelikelegos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Louis' a high class model known for untrue deeds and Harry reports on them. But he really doesn't want to believe they're true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry would admit freely that he was terrified of his boss. The man was substantially shorter, fat rolls concealed under a thick layer of thrift store tweed jackets. He barked orders through handfuls of wasabi nuts, drowned in gulps of coffee. His secretaries were inconsistent due to the Victoria’s Secret gift cards he gave out upon their arrival. And he thought Harry was a really good writer.  
“Soliloquy? Like Shakespeare?”  
The spice of his breath made Harry feel ill, along with the tedious process of judging work that his small mind could not comprehend.  
“Yes sir.” The words were all too familiar to Harry, as he said them more frequently than his boss stuffed another batch of nuts between his cheeks.  
“No no no.” He shook his head, “you can’t use some old English in a celebrity news article. Think about the demographic here, Harry.” He set down the freshly printed piece on his desk and kneaded his bald scalp.  
“Sir, a soliloquy isn’t necessarily only for use in old English…”  
“Take out the Dark Age vocabulary and it’ll get printed.” He slid the work toward Harry and remained silent, cuing the young boy to leave him in peace.  
Harry escaped the large doors of the office and broke out into a sprint to his own.  
“Woah, woah.” Gary held out his hand and Harry was forced to come to a halt. “What’s up, speed racer?”  
“It was too advanced for his high school vocabulary.”  
‘Every time, man.”  
Harry shrugged. “I know. But if I dumb it down it’ll get printed.”  
“’Course it’ll get printed.”  
Harry moved toward his office and left the co-worker behind, pursuing his dream to take a nap on his desk and get out before 4.  
“I still don’t get why you work here.” Harry caught the last of Gary’s words and closed his door, the familiar office a welcome space for him to sleep and not ponder Gary’s words. He worked here because he had to. 

“I’ll be in the front row, so look for me. I’ll chat up a few magazines, they’ll ask for your book, you know the drill.” Mary pushed the Ray Bans up the bridge of her nose, attempting to avoid the harsh sun and read her phone screen despite the glare.  
Louis opened the sleek black doors and ventured into the open space. He let Mary lead him to his rack and took a quick glance over the selection for anything out of sort.  
“Everything good?” She asked, vision still not on her client and instead the phone she was typing so vigorously on.  
“Fine.”  
“Good.” Mary finally looked up and let a large collection of breath escape her. Louis felt as though she hadn’t breathed the entire car ride here. “It’s gonna be a great night.”  
‘I’m sure.”  
Louis was anything but excited, but his emotions didn’t match anyone around him. His agent, the other bookers at Profile, all other models there and where he stood, all excited for the night. The only emotion Louis felt was flatness.  
He ran his fingers over the white tuxedo in front of three other outfits, scoffing. Everything wasn’t all good, the suit would make him look like John Travolta and it matched the pale complexion that even Mary had failed to notice.  
“No statements, Carl. None.” Mary returned with her journey’s worth of bland coffee and phone pressed to her ear. It was on several occasions that Louis suggested it be glued there, as it might as well be.  
She hung up, obviously furious as she gulped down the rest of the caffeine she’d received not 5 minutes before.  
“You are gay, right?”  
Louis scoffed. “Mary, shut up.”  
“Sorry. It’s all over the news that you ‘lied about being gay’. How idiotic. All these gossip places keep calling me, asking me for the ‘latest scoop’. Whoever gave out my number can go to hell.” She paused as she went for another swig of coffee but found the cup empty. “There will be some of those here, you remember.”  
He nodded, as those were the reporters that always left an impression, the ones that asked blatant questions about personal things they honestly had no business knowing.  
“Is there a bar here?”  
He looked up from his clothing for the answer to find Mary gone yet again, probably for another coffee.  
“Mr. Tomlinson?” A large man holding a walkie-talkie and clipboard approached him. “You’re wanted at mirror 6.” He turned to lead the boy off through the maze of clothing racks, mirrors, and the occasional photographer. Their employers were labeled on the back of their camera cases and Louis was a little winded by some of the labels reporting at the show. Even after all these years, he was blown away at the reputable magazines that showed up to fashion shows.  
“I’m off to Starbucks.” Mary said as she crossed behind him, tapping him on the shoulder.  
“Nothing for me.”  
She nodded and continued on.  
“No alcohol, either!” She yelled over her shoulder.  
“I thought you said it was going to be a good night” He mumbled to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

6 was Louis’ lucky number, always would be. Mary was ordered to always get mirror 6, clothing rack 6, everything of the sort. The flower in the front pocket of his suits had 6 petals. It was one of the long list of things he required while on the job.  
“Quiff. Always a quiff.” His make-up person, a lanky 20-something guy with tattoos all up his arm, rubbed gel between his palms.  
“Fringe looks bad on me.” The mirror reflected back to Louis a pale figure with dead eyes under which lay purple circles in need of heavy concealer. He was more off his game than ever, feeling completely neutral about one of the biggest fashion shows of the year.  
“Doubt it.” The hairdresser smirked and portioned the styling gel through Louis’ caramel-colored hair, brushing it back between his fingers. He used the other hand to plug in a hair dryer and all the while Louis remained still. He knew the Mona Lisa wouldn’t move as Leonardo Di Vinci painted her. And Louis was currently being sculpted. He was not, however, in the mood to be glorified by his hairdresser. They were always new and Louis always charmed them, but he was usually pretty tipsy by this time. But he had not a drop of alcohol in his system, by Mary’s orders.  
He had missed the memo that an agent was the one to order him around like he was the employee. He preferred “client” better, but Mary had been dragging him around like a child’s blanket for quite some time now.  
Both turned as a commotion was heard behind the doors of the giant studio where Louis and other models alike sat and were made into masterpieces. The common screaming of photographers and reporters as a particular model made their way to the make-up station was nothing short of regular, but hard to get used to.  
The door swung open and Louis felt as blinded as he did when he stood before the flashing cameras, even though all the way across the room. The model being bombarded acted as nonchalant as Louis learned to be, but he knew it was hard. It was like a swarm of bees quickly flying into your faces and having being advised not to swat them away.  
The hairstylist scoffed. “You know, they even ask me questions. And all I do is hair.”  
“I just ignore them.” Louis tried quick sentences, wishing he had the loose feeling of intoxication. Instead, he was stiff as a board and ungrateful for the attention. By now Louis would have the fresh out of college stylist on his toes, ready to make quick to his apartment with Louis and have a quick one on his bathroom floor. Reporters always wondered where Louis was after shows, and would be interested to hear that he was with a blue collar worker and a bottle of Vodka in a cab, paying the driver to not speak a word about what happens in the back seat.  
It might be good for Louis’ image for them to see him with the stylist. Maybe then they’d be sure of his sexuality.  
“It’s hard to ignore them when they’re screaming in your face.” Right then, the stylist plugged in the hairdryer and Louis was grateful he didn’t have to carry on the conversation while his blood stream was lacking in booze. 

“This fucking shutter doesn’t even work.” Harry fiddled with the low quality camera he had been given for the night, wishing his abilities extended to the repair of shitty magazine equipment.  
“Mine does.” Gary lifted the camera from it’s dangle at his stomach and snapped a quick one of Harry’s distressed face. Harry lifted his and tried yet again to get a picture.  
“Tosser.” Harry garbled under his breath. He turned the flash off and back on again arbitrarily, and kept clicking the capture button, to no avail.  
“It’s dead, Harry. You’re lucky, it means you can sit around and do nothing for the rest of the night. Take pity on those who actually have to work.”  
“Yeah, well Gary,” Harry clicked the button rapidly, hoping maybe it was jammed, “Some of us actually enjoy our work and aren’t lazy like you.”  
“Who’s the tosser now?” Gary lifted his camera and snapped another picture of Harry. He turned the display to show him, the picture a clear exhibit of Harry’s frustration. “Hint: it’s you.”  
Harry huffed and continued clicking the capture button until he was sure that wasn’t the problem. It was obviously some advanced issue that no one here would be able to fix, unless one of the models minored in tech, their major being pretentious as hell. Every one that walked by wouldn’t even look Harry in the eye, but Harry was willing to look at much more of them. He guessed the high-profile scene like this would be filled with snarky people, but none of them even took a second for Harry. He usually got one or two to be taken by him, maybe even ask why he wasn’t walking on the runway with them. It wasn’t rare for Harry to be mistaken as a model when not baring a camera around his neck. So why he getting shut down so easily here? He made a mental note that scenes like this were far too fancy for his liking, because they promised no luck with the models.  
“US Weekly, People, Star, they’re all here man.” Gary looked around and scoffed. “This is the biggest job I’ve taken.”  
Harry nodded. “Same here.”  
“Really? You’ve worked a lot, though.”  
Harry let his eyes wander to the big door that held the models in hair and makeup. It opened as one made their way in, and behind them a swarm of paparazzi. Harry, being unusually tall, could see over their heads into the expanse of mirrors where models sat to be made up. A few caught his eye, and he could say they were some of the most gorgeous people he’d ever encountered.  
“It’s a really big job.” 

“Louis, ready to walk?”  
Louis loved hearing those words. It meant he was on the way, about to be on stage. About to do his job. But Mary stopped saying them a while ago.  
“Now!” She barked. Louis looked at the mirror one last time and nodded at the stylist that it was good. The stylist looked good, but yet again, he wasn’t drunk. A lot of trainers would suggest not being hammered before you walked down a runway drowned in harsh lighting and rhythmic music, because it was vital you paid attention. But Louis was as aware as ever when he was smashed, and he found that he worked better under the influence. Mary thought otherwise, so he usually had a flask handy. But she found it and he was more clear-headed than a recovering alcoholic with the sobriety tokens jingling in his pockets.  
“Remember where your rack is, you have four minutes between each to change, the shoes are right under the outfits, and I swear to God, if you mess up your hair,” Mary let out a large huff, “I’ll tell the reporters you leave out the fire escape.”  
Louis bit the inside of cheeks and resisted the urge to yell every profanity he knew into Mary’s face. He hated her. He used to think she was an angel, a savior to his ignorance and new found glory. But now he wished he could turn on the news and hear she was found in a ditch.  
“Fine.”  
“Have a good show. I’ll see you after,” is what she used to say before she made her way to the crowd to cheer him on.  
“Don’t trip, either.” She turned on her heel and headed to the curtain.  
Louis turned to the clothing rack and looked at his next outfit, sleek black pants with a bow tie of the same color, matched with a purple button down and shiny dress shoes. Business casual, and something he would never like to wear. Mary acted like he had a say in his clothing choices, but he didn’t get a word. He might as well still be fresh into New York and doing shows on runways for store openings. Mary certainly treated him that unprofessionally.  
The flash of a camera brought his head up and his expression turned even grimmer than it was when he though about his gruesome agent. 

Harry pressed the capture button down with such force the tip of his finger turned white. Gary’s relentless mockery of his shotty camera had caused so much frustration to build up inside of him, he was surprised the camera hadn’t broken under his harsh grip.  
He lifted his finger and pressed again, looking down at the display just as he saw a flash. He looked up, expecting to find Gary laughing at the picture of a hot a bothered Harry he just took, but saw no one.  
The display showed a new picture. Harry looked straight ahead and almost jumped away from his close proximity to a clothing rack and unamused model.  
“Oh. Sorry.” Harry pulled a sympathetic smile and tried not to seem too happy that his camera was working, as it would appear to the model his mistake was not such a mistake.  
“Delete that, thanks.” The model turned from the rack and strutted away, as though already a model walking down the runway. Harry indulged himself to look at the ridiculous clothing they had set up for him to wear. He chuckled at the suit he was already wearing, a white thing that reminded Harry of John Travolta. The purple shirt and pants weren’t too bad though, and he liked bowties. The next was a full out tuxedo with a bright pink wildflower in the front pocket, and the last a crisp white silk shirt with grey pin stripe pants. Harry checked to see if anyone was looking over, and upon seeing no one, he reached forward and rubbed the soft fabric between his fingers.  
“Did you just accidentally take a picture of a model?” Gary popped up on the other side of the clothing rack, nearly making Harry rip the shirt as he yanked his hand away. He was already on edge from touching the expensive clothing, and his co-photographer for the evening loved nothing more than scaring the shit out of him.  
Harry sighed out of relief, for a second thinking he had been caught for the bad act and being deathly afraid he would be thrown out and unable to finish his job. “Yes. Oh, I still have to delete the picture.” Harry reached down for the camera but Gary swatted his hand.  
“Don’t. The magazine will love a bad picture. Good for a slam article on them. Plus, that’s Louis Tomlinson.”  
Gary pointed to the display screen, at the taken aback face of the model. Though it was candid and a very bad angle, he still looked good. Harry though he probably looked good at all angles. He was a model, and for this big a show.  
“An article? He’s just a model.”  
“Harry, we’re not here to just get pictures of the show. Models have dirt too, and people care about it.”  
“I’ve never even heard of him.”  
Harry looked back in the direction of the model. He was noticeably shorter than all the models, which was odd. His hair sat high on top of his head, so much so that Harry felt like laughing. And his features were very lady like. Sure, the guy was attractive, but he didn’t really seem like model material. And he’s getting articles written about him, he’s widely known? Harry worked at a gossip magazine and even he found that overly absurd.  
“We did a spread about him last week; he’s been in the press a lot lately.” Gary pointed him camera towards the guy and snapped a few pictures.  
“For what?”  
“He came out a few years back, but then he got seen with a girl. It was this whole thing, people were saying he only claimed to be gay to get attention.”  
“How would that get him attention?”  
“Statistics say only about a fourth of the male models today are gay. They’re not exactly in it for the fashion, if you know what I mean. And being the minority gets you attention”  
Gary pointed his camera and got a few more before scoffing. “I can’t get a good shot from the back that looks right. I don’t want to get one on the runway though.” He stepped forward and looked at the model. “I’m gonna do a pass by, be right back.”  
Harry thought the pass by must be one of the most annoying tactics a paparazzo uses, next to hiding. It involves passing by, looking regular, but at the last moment snapping a few pictures, and scurrying off before anything bad might ensue. The worst part of it all would be the shock of the flashes or how off-guard the person looks in the picture.  
Gary attempted the move but was shut down as someone blocked the shot.  
“Dammit.”  
He made his way back over to Harry, looking dejected about his failed shot.  
“Just try again.”  
“Nah, I heard the models are about to line up. Let’s go find our seats.”  
Harry sighed. His favorite part of the evening was over, being up and close with the models and observing their environment. Now he’d have to make his way to the crappy seats the magazine reserved, because they were low budget. But bad seats were no excuse for bad pictures, so Harry had to strain and try amazingly hard to get a good picture. He loved photography, but practically sitting in the lap of the person next to him trying to snap something quality was grueling. A nice sunset or breaching shark would be much more enjoyable to capture.  
“So, do you think the rumors are true? About Louis Tomlinson?”  
Gary shrugged. “I don’t know, but if they are, the guys gotten himself into some deep shit lying about it. There was big gay-rights movement going on right around the time. The guy was a guest on Ellen.”  
Harry smirked. “Well he seems crabby. If he did lie, he probably didn’t think it would get so far as to have articles written about him. He’s just a model.”  
“Well he’s not ‘just a model’ now. Since then he’s gotten enough press to be picked up by Profile Modeling Agency. They’re like the boutique version of Ford.”  
“So maybe he lied for a reason.”  
“Maybe.” Gary lifted his camera and snapped the first runway shot of the night. Harry did the same, and waited for Louis to come out. He was 6th to walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> breakuplovelikelegos.tumblr.com


End file.
